


Fall is in the Air

by MostlyStars



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Autumn, M/M, Modern AU, moritz is just real sad, very fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyStars/pseuds/MostlyStars
Summary: The adventures of Moritz and Melchior when Moritz is sad and fall is upon them.





	1. Rows and Rows of Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the apple orchard.

       The turns to the apple orchard flickered dully at the back of his mind. It was on the edge of town, but everyone knew how to get there. He was only aware of feeling everything and nothing and every last thing.

       And the occasional  _ Is this the right thing to be doing? _ Because where would he be without that?

       The gravel lot of the orchard was packed when he came to it. He took an empty spot at the far end. He got out. He considered walking into one of the rows of trees and not stopping. Getting himself lost from everyone and everything and---

       And there was Melchior walking up to the small, wooden ticketbooth. Moritz followed in that direction. It was after they had both passed through the line that Melchior noticed Moritz had made it there too.

       “You made it,” he said.

       “I made it.”

       The smell of apples and cinnamon and cider was so overwhelming it made Moritz want to sit on the ground and cry. Most things did, lately. Still, it was there.

       “Cider?” Melchior suggested. They both went to the refurbished barn that hosted food and beverages and the only semblance of heat in the orchard.

       Cups in hand, they walked out into the rows of apples. Or Moritz followed Melchior as he walked there.

       Maybe that was why he had chosen Melchior over his other friends. He could follow without a word.

       But it hadn’t really been a choice. It had felt like the exact opposite. It seemed a mystery to Moritz how he had so quickly shifted his social circle. But then it didn’t at all. It had been -- was -- the only possibility.

       “When was the last time you were at an apple orchard, Moritz?” Melchior was asking. He was ahead and he didn’t turn his head to look back.

       “I don’t know. Years,” Moritz said. “Years and years.”

       “Years and years,” Melchior echoed. “I come every year.”

       “What for?”

       “Everything.”

       Moritz nodded, even if he wasn’t seen.

       They zig-zagged their way through several rows, the barn and parking lot growing small in the distance.

       They stopped after a while. “Ever climbed one of the trees?”

       “N-no. Of course not.” A pause. “Have you?”

       “Every year.” He turned his head now and there was a grin on his face. “Years and years.”

       And then he was setting down his cup and pulling on one of the branches, lifting himself up. Moritz marveled at the ease with which he did so. Then Melchior was at the top. Although the trees weren’t tall, Moritz felt small beneath.

       “Your turn,” Melchior said.

       “On that same tree?”

       “Of course not, you’d never fit. Do that one.” And he pointed to the one immediately to the right.

       So Moritz found himself attempting to climb up. It was harder than it looked, his feet constantly skidding on the trunk. If it weren’t for Melchior being there, he would have given up and hoped no one had noticed. But he eventually made it to the top.

       There was so much more up there. More sky, more trees, more people. He closed his eyes, could feel the pressure of tears press between them.

       “I remember my mom always got upset at me for climbing the trees,” Melchior said. “My dad just laughed and laughed and took pictures.”

       It was almost startling to hear Melchior talk about his family. They had hung out much more lately, but everything was surface level. “Did you do the math homework?” level, not “Let’s talk about our parents”.

       “What did your siblings do?”

       “Only child.” Melchior was staring out at the horizon, his face lit softly by the falling sun.

       “Oh.” Moritz pulled at leaves on the trees, tearing them up before tossing the pieces to the ground.

       There was silence. Moritz closed his eyes. He wanted dark, emptiness, void.  _ Maybe an apple orchard is the only place to truly find quiet _ , he thought. Maybe he could escape here. But orchards only last for so long in the year. He needed a more permanent solution.

       Melchior’s voice brought him out of his head. “Tell me about your family.”

       “Oh, well, I’ve got a mom, dad, the usual.”

       “But what are they like? Kind? jerks? Don’t understand you?”

       “Isn’t that everyone’s tale?”

       “True.” Moritz could see Melchior leaning back in the trees, nestled in the leafy branches.

       “And yours?” Moritz asked tentatively after a while.

       “Mom’s alright. Dad’s never home, so he’s alright too.” There was a small laugh that Moritz felt in his heart.

       He decided he wouldn’t mind if all the branches fell away right then. Shame the tree wasn’t higher.

       In his hands, leaves were still being ripped up and thrown down. All his focus was on the distance, though, farther than the edge of the sky. The kind of limitless stare only found in someone in their head. And he was deep. In a foggy tunnel of  _ How bad would it be if I died right now? _ Or tomorrow. Or yesterday. If it had been yesterday he wouldn’t have gotten to go to the apple orchard. He liked it. Maybe tomorrow would hold something just as good. But maybe not.

       “Careful up there,” he heard from below. His focus shifted to the ground where Melchior was now standing, cider in hand. He himself was listing dangerously forward. Feeling self-conscious and out of it, he righted himself and began the slow process of climbing down.

       “I’m sorry,” he said when he reached the ground.

       “Don’t be.” Melchior started to walk down the row of trees again. “You looked a little lost up there.” He turned his head, narrowing his eyes a bit at Moritz. “You still do.”

       Moritz shrugged. “Always am.” He added an “I guess” after a sliver of silence.

       Ahead, he could see Melchior nod his head in response. And there was that urge again. To run. To avoid anything but surface level.

       But he followed. And they kept walking. And the sun fell more and more toward the bottom of the sky. It wouldn’t be fully dark for another hour or so, but it was certainly not fully day. It was fall and dusk seemed to stretch on longer than anything.

       And somehow, between all their zigs and zags, they had ended up back at the barn.

       “I’ll see you around, Moritz,” Melchior said. “Maybe next time we’ll actually pick the apples.” And he walked back to his car.

_        Next time _ .

       Moritz sat at one of the faded picnic tables. He could feel every blink. He counted his fingers, felt the wood of the table beneath them. This was good and he didn’t want to go home.

       He wasn’t sure how long it had been when his phone buzzed with a text. Melchior.  _ You’re still sitting there. _

       Moritz didn’t know what to say. He eventually sent a  _ Yes? _

_        Didn’t you drive here? _

_        Yes? _

_        I’m not going home until I see you drive away. _

       And Moritz felt a small smile creep across his face. This was almost like someone caring and that was scarier than anything. And better too.

       So he got up from the table and went to his car. He didn’t know what kind of car Melchior drove. Otherwise he might have waved or something. Maybe not.

       And he drove home. He felt all of the night’s events replaying in his heart.

       About fifteen minutes after he had gotten to this house, there was another text:  _ Make it home? _

       The scariest thing.


	2. Getting Lost and Feeling Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the corn maze and the pumpkin patch.

       It had started with Moritz.

       It was a Monday. Nothing unusual about it. But he had woken up tired and never left that foggy state. He stumbled through the morning, only vaguely aware of what class he was in. Then came lunch.

       He passed by the table where he normally sat with Ernst and Anna and whoever rotated through. Something in him made him keep walking until he found an empty table. He didn’t feel like he could talk to anyone, especially them. They were kind, unbearably kind. And they would ask questions that he didn’t know how to answer.

       So he was at an empty table. At least until Melchior sat down at it. Of course Moritz had chosen someone else’s table. And someone he hadn’t talked to since fourth grade, no less.

       But Melchior just sat down with a “Hey”. No questions, no prodding. And Moritz felt comforted by that. A few others sat at the table but they only talked to Melchior.

       Thus, Moritz had found a new home.

       Days passed. Melchior and Moritz started to have small conversations. They learned they were in the same math level (though Melchior was more advanced in everything else). They exchanged answers. They exchanged phone numbers.

       Moritz felt guilty.

       He didn’t know how to explain to Ernst or Anna what had happened (or himself, really). So he avoided them. He avoid himself, barely talking with anyone about anything of importance.

       One day Melchior asked him if he wanted to go to the apple orchard. Moritz said yes.

* * *

 

       “Number twelve?”

       “No clue.”

       “Well.”

       They were sitting on the floor of Melchior’s room. He had no desk, so they sat with their homework on their laps.

       Moritz took a sip of his still-warm tea. He yawned and shifted his legs.

       “You done?” Melchior asked and he shrugged in response. “Well, I am.” Melchior shut the textbook and slid it away.

       Moritz leaned against the frame of the bed. “Do I...go home now?” He feared that he couldn’t hide the small hope that he could stay.

       “If you want. But you don’t have to.”

       Neither of them moved.

       “I think I’m going to the pumpkin patch this weekend. Want to come?”

       “Do you just have a list of every fall activity on a scrap of paper somewhere?” Moritz asked with a small laugh.

       “Of course not. It’s in the notes app on my phone.” Laughter rose between them and flitted around the room.

       “What’s at the pumpkin patch?”

       “Fall.”

       Moritz could feel the weight he’d been holding for days drop back into his stomach without reason. He felt the high of the afternoon melt off of him, leaving behind a cold, scared boy.

       “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he said, but his voice had sunk into something quieter, sadder. If Melchior noticed, he didn’t say a word.

       Moritz left after a while. On the drive home, his head was caught in a whirlwind that took his thoughts.

       When would Ernst confront him? Not if -- when. What would Moritz say? Do?

       When had he and Melchior become friends? And how? Would he become scared and run from Melchior as he had from and Ernst and Anna and everyone?

       And when would he ever be able to wake up?

* * *

 

       It was Saturday. They were in the corn maze, not quite knowing where they were.

       They talked about unimportant things. Melchior went on a rant about the capitalist traditions of Black Friday and Christmas (not that Moritz could see any difference in Halloween). So there they were, feeding into the monetary growth of irrelevant holidays.

       Moritz didn’t mind. Not the aimless talking nor the aimless holiday nor the aimless wandering through the corn. He may have been lost but he couldn’t care less.

       Meanwhile, at every turn that took them deeper into the maze, he could hear Melchior curse.

       “This is way too hard.  _ Children _ are supposed to do this,” Melchior said bitterly at one point.

       “With their parents.”

       “And I’m practically an adult.” That was almost laughable to Moritz. They may have been teenagers, but they were still children. Kids, only ever kids, and everyone around them told it to them constantly. “There must be some sort of pattern to this.”

       “It’s corn, Melchior.”

       “And we’re lost in it.” Melchior stopped walking and turned in a circle, trying to see any way out.

       Moritz felt as though he should have been worried. But he wasn’t. Maybe it was that the maze _was_ designed for families. Or maybe it was the knowledge that Melchior could work his way through any problem. Or maybe it was the comforting chill in the air, the way the sky burned orange as the sun dipped lower, the stillness only broken by a breeze that parted the corn with a gentle hand.  
Melchior had said he came here for fall and Moritz found himself agreeing more and more.

       They took a left and a couple rights, and an edge to the field appeared. Finally the two of them stepped out of the grain to meet an area full of children and pumpkins and hay bales and laughter.

       Out there, the wind whipped past more sharply. Moritz shivered and wrapped his sweater sleeves around his hands.

       Melchior bumped a shoulder into Moritz’s, startling him into stumbling over his feet. “Cold?” Melchior asked.

       Moritz blinked and half-shrugged-half-nodded. Melchior led the way to the warm interior of the little shop (in another refurbished barn -- was that the only possible fall-appropriate architecture?) and Moritz felt a small smile sneak onto his face.

       Inside the store, they found hot chocolate. Melchior bought the largest pumpkin they sold. Moritz laughed as he tried to even carry it to the counter. Then they bought caramel apples and sat with them outside. Under the sky and stars only half hidden by clouds.

       “I still think that maze was rigged,” Melchior said between bites.

       “It’s for  _ children _ . It couldn’t be.”

       Melchior squinted at some point in the distance. “I don’t trust it.”

       “Well, I don’t trust non-self-checkout lanes at the store but we can’t all have our way.”

       And the night felt light. The weight in him lifted for those few hours. He had managed to push it away or it had better things to do. And maybe he would still want to stay lost in that corn for who knows how long. But maybe not alone.


	3. Peace Shot Through With Gold (and Vice Versa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the rain and the leafy trail.

       Moritz didn’t bother putting on more than the sweater he already had. He stepped into the rain and stood there with his eyes closed.

_        This is like a bad drama. _

       But that would mean he was the star and he couldn’t bring himself to believe that he was the star of anything, even his own life.

       The rain felt kind, though. Cold and wet and new. Dripping down from his hair, from his chin. A lump formed in his throat and even though he was in the pouring rain, he felt some part of him hold him back from crying. He hugged his arms around himself.

       He stayed out there for a little while. In the gray, in the rain. When he went inside, his sweater and pants were soaked. His hair, starting to curl from the dampness, dripped onto the floor.

       Moritz picked up his phone from the table to see a message waiting for him from a few minutes ago.  
Melchior: _Why aren’t you at school?_

       Moritz hadn’t bothered to do a lot of things that day, including getting himself to go to school. His head was lost and he couldn’t find it. School was just one more place where he wouldn’t be able to locate it, let alone think.

       He automatically sent back  _ Sick. _

       After a moment, a new message:  _ Of? _

       Moritz felt a small smile slide into his face.  _ Good question _ .

_        I guess I’ll see you later then. _

_        I can’t go anywhere today. _

_        No need to. _

       And that cryptic message was all he was left with until 2:30. School had just ended. He received another text from Melchior that said  _ On my way over _ . Then a few minutes later:  _ Actually what’s your address I forgot. _

       Moritz had changed into dry pajamas. He had then sat and watched old reruns of  _ The Office _ , but his head was everywhere but the show.

       Now he felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest. His conscious, slightly more logical mind told him that he shouldn’t hang out with Melchior today. He was too out of it, too down. Not to mention the fact that he still hadn’t talked to Ernst and Anna since that table-switching day.

       But there was another part of him that made his heart jump, his lungs ache. It longed for distraction. He was just low and he needed something or someone to bring him back up, right? (It didn’t seem like a convincing argument, even to him). But that part of him longed for a simple connection without questions asked.

       For something else he couldn’t -- didn’t want to -- name.

       Before he could sort himself, Melchior was at the door. Moritz answered it, still in his PJs.

       “Hi, Melchior,” he said and his voice felt small.

       Melchior walked in. They went up into Moritz’s room. Moritz sat in his desk chair, Melchior on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

       “Are you actually sick?”

       Moritz shook his head.

       “That’s a shame. It’s on my Fall Bucket List and I was hoping someone else would do it for me.”

       “That list is real?” Moritz asked with a small laugh. “I thought it was a joke.”

       “Of course not! I am a  man of action -- and the organized listing of those actions.”

       Moritz laughed again. Melchior grinned. Light and time curled around them.

       “What else is on the list?”

       “That’s a secret. You’ll find out when I drag you along.”

       “Me?”

       “Well, I’ve taken you to the last two, haven’t I?”

       Moritz nodded and shuffled his feet. “Why did you come over?” he asked, and in the question he could hear himself asking why Melchior had taken  _ him _ to the orchard, to the pumpkin patch. It felt to Moritz like they were barely friends, and if they were, they were still in the earliest stages. They didn’t really talk too much and when they did it was inconsequential. He would have thought that Melchior would have moved right past him. Maybe he still would. Then came the logical part of his mind:  _ Maybe that would be best _ . But the other, deeper part pushed that thought away insistently.

       All the while, Melchior was saying “I’m just stopping by. I had nothing to do after school.”

       “Right.”  _ Of course _ . Because Melchior, like most people, didn’t overthink every action, every word said. He just did things. Moritz wished for that ability.

       His hands pulled on his sleeves. He could see Melchior looking around his room, taking in its dullness, its lack of anything personal hung up.

       “You don’t have any pictures.”

_        I don’t have any reason to take them _ . “I’m not allowed to hang them up.”

       Melchior nodded. “Am I allowed to be over here right now?”

       The thought pulled Moritz down a little toward reality. “Probably not.”

       Neither of them moved.

       “Are you ready for the math test tomorrow?”

       “Not at all.”

       They talked about trivial things as they always had, but now it felt like something different. Or maybe that was only in Moritz’s head.

_        Overthinking, overthinking _ .

       Eventually, there was a lull in the pleasantries. “I’m checking off the next thing on my list in a couple days,” Melchior said after a moment. “Do you want to…?”

       “Yeah, that’d be great.” His voice sounded stinted in his hears.

       Melchior stood. So did Moritz. They exchanged goodbyes and Melchior left. Moritz stood at a window and stared at the rain, trying to press down the ache in his lungs.

_        Stupid stupid stupid. _

* * *

       It was Thursday, the talked-of couple days later. Melchior had picked Moritz up and they were headed...somewhere. Melchior wouldn’t say.

       “Where are we going?”

       “Another place on the list.”

       “But where?”

       “Fall.”

       “Not  _ when _ . Where is it?”

       “You’ll see.”

       And though Moritz could feel his anxiety rising at the prospect of something unknown, he was excited too. Maybe he was finally rising from his down spell. Or maybe it was hope for a quiet, beautiful place as the past few had been.

       When Melchior pulled into an empty lot, he saw that the beautiful part was not wrong. In front of them stretched a trail that eventually disappeared from sight into the trees. All of which were fire-lit gold, their leaves drifting to carpet the paved trail.

       “This is amazing.”

       “Just wait until you walk on it.”

       Moritz was glad he had brought a sweatshirt. The air had a sharp chill to it.

       As the trail seemed to melt into the trees, there was an almost magical quality to everything. The golden trees, the golden leaves on the ground, the soft crunch of them beneath your feet.

       Moritz shivered, from the cold, from the beauty of it all. “This is…”

       Melchior grinned. “Wonderful? Beautiful? Yeah.” He noticed Moritz’s shivering. “Are you cold?”

       “Just a little. I’m fine---”

       But Melchior had grabbed onto one of his hands. “Your hands are freezing. Here.” And he took both of Moritz’s hands. They had stopped walking. The only thing that convinced Moritz that time hadn’t stopped was the leaves still falling around them.

       He felt his breathing go shallow, all his hopes resolving themselves into an ache in his chest. There were a million questions passing through his head, but he couldn’t seem to make his mouth form any of them.

       And there was Melchior, standing frozen but alive, Moritz’s hands within his. “Better?” he asked, his voice barely discernable over the rustle of the leaves.

       Moritz nodded his head infinitesimally. “Better.” He glanced at Melchior’s face but couldn’t read his expression.

       “Moritz…?” Melchior started, sounding like he was going to continue. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him.

       Then Moritz was swimming in the gold and Melchior and warmth. Their hands reconfigured until they were both holding each others’. After a few moments, they pulled apart, scanning the other’s eyes for emotion, finding peace and joy. Their mouths found each other again.

       It went on like that for a while. And Moritz realized he had found a new level of quiet in his mind, a place where everything melted away.

       Eventually, the light started to fade and it really did grow cold. Moritz leaned his head into Melchior’s shoulder and Melchior pulled him in close, his arms wrapped around him.

       “Do we have to go?” Moritz asked into Melchior’s sweatshirt.

       “Never. Never.”


	4. The Warmth of Main Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Ernst and Main Street.

       When Moritz was younger, he had lived a couple houses down from Ernst. They had quickly bonded as the only kids their age on the street. Throughout all of elementary school, they were each other’s best friends. And only, really.

       After fifth grade, Ernst had moved. Not out of town, but away. That was enough to separate their friendship. No more after school hangouts, no more sleepovers. They were happy to have each other in classes, now in middle school, but that was it.

       In high school, things changed. With all the kids from so many different schools coming together, Moritz had been lost. He started to be more grateful for Ernst’s kindness, having made just about no friends in middle school. They started eating lunch together and there they were, two years later.

       Until Moritz left. Then it was just a waiting game until Ernst said something. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. There had been texts every few days:  _ Are you sick?  _ and  _ I saw you at school but you weren’t at lunch  _ and  _ I haven’t seen you lately want to talk sometime? _ The more that compiled, the more anxiety he felt about the time when he would talk to Ernst. Would he be upset? Angry at Moritz for leaving, sad that he wasn’t enough? So Moritz avoided his glances, walked quickly out of the one class they had together, anything to avoid the meeting, the talking.

       Until today. Ernst stopped him in the hallway outside of his sixth period. It was the end of the day.

       “Moritz,” Ernst said, his voice full of hope and full of worry.

       “I-- I have to go---” He started to walk away.

       “Please, Moritz.” Ernst followed him. “I just want to check in.” His voice was soft in a way that hit Moritz’s heart.

       “I have to go home.”

       “Aren’t you driving?”

       Moritz nodded.

       “So can you stay for just a moment?”

       Moritz nodded again, slower this time. He followed Ernst out of the school to a small patch of trees next to the tennis courts. All his fear was coalescing in his stomach. He wanted to run.

       They sat. Moritz set his backpack on his lap and hugged it to his torso.

       Neither of them said anything for several minutes. Eventually, speaking to his bag, Moritz started, “I’m sorry, I---”

       “No, Moritz,” Ernst said gently. He laid a hand on Moritz’s shoulder. (They had known each other long enough that it didn’t startle him.) “You don’t need to apologize for anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay -- or, at least, what I can do to help you.”

       Already, Moritz felt some of the anxiety he’d been holding for the past couple weeks unravel. Ernst wasn’t upset. Moritz wasn’t sure that he had ever truly believed he would be. Ernst was only ever kind.

       Moritz wanted to cry.

       “Are you sick?” Ernst asked.

       Moritz had to fight the urge to lie, to say he was fine. It was obvious he wasn’t. “I guess so.”

       “So you stopped sitting with us?”

       “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. So I just...didn’t.” He bit back the urge to apologize again.

       “Okay.” Ernst nodded, thinking. “And that’s okay. But you can still sit with us and we just don’t have to talk. You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

       Moritz shifted his legs. “I haven’t been completely alone. I kind of made friends with Melchior -- I’ve been sitting at his table.”

       And with the words, the events of the past couple week came to him in a rush, especially the past few days.

       After that first kiss, they had stood there for what felt like hours. They clung to each others’ warmth and very presence.

       Eventually, Melchior had said, “I probably have to get home soon.”

       Moritz nodded and they pulled apart. But their fingers remained interlaced. They walked back to the car and Moritz felt Melchior’s warmth stay with him the entire time.

       He couldn’t remember what they talked about, or even if they talked, on the way home. His head was too far off of his shoulders.

       All he could remember was that when he was getting out of the car at his house, Melchior grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards him. Their mouths met and Moritz swore he could taste the stars.

       All of this must have been plastered on Moritz’s face because Ernst said, “Friends?”

       Moritz couldn’t fight the heat rising to his cheeks.

       Ernst grinned. “Whatever it is, I’m happy for you.” A slight pause. “But will you come back to the table? We miss you.”

       “I---”

       “And if you’re having a sucky day or week or whatever, you can tell us. We’ll be there for you.”

       And now it was tears that he could hardly fight the rise of. Moritz nodded. Much of his anxiety melted away. Ernst wasn’t mad or upset in any way, he was understanding. As always.

       They hugged and Moritz felt cared for, accounted for. Home.

* * *

 

       The next day, Moritz sat at Ernst and Anna’s table. At first, he was hesitant, but Ernst smiled brightly and he sat with more ease.

       Melchior walked past the table. Moritz didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything at all, so he let him. But a part of his heart reached out to him as he walked past.

       After a few moments, Melchior came back. “You left,” he said to Moritz, more statement of fact than accusation.

       Moritz nodded. Before he could say anything, Anna said, “You can join us.”

       So Melchior pulled up a chair next to Moritz. They didn’t talk much, but every once in a while they would bump shoulders. Moritz could feel his smile widen a little each time, a warmth spreading throughout him.

       “Can we meet later?” Melchior asked as they were getting up to leave.

       Moritz had homework in almost every one of his classes, but he didn’t care. He nodded.

       They met in one of the small towns that was next to theirs. It had a culte little main street lined with shops, all held together by strings of lights. They walked down the sidewalk.

       “So you moved...back,” Melchior said, talking about the lunch tables.

       “Yes.” Moritz shoved his hands into his pockets.

       “Was the kiss -- us -- is this bad?” Moritz had never heard Melchior be nervous before and it startled him now.

       “No, no,” he said quickly. “This is...great.” He could feel a blush growing on his cheeks.

       “So…?”

       “I just found your table because I wanted to get away -- I wasn’t feeling well. And then we started talking and…” He shrugged. “But I talked to Ernst about it and so I moved back.”

       They walked into an antiques store that smelled of dust and spices. “And how do you feel now?”

       They stopped in one of the rows. Melchior reached out and grabbed one of Moritz’s hands, now out of his pockets. Their fingers intertwined for a moment. Moritz smiled and looked down. “Pretty okay.”

       “Okay?” Melchior asked in a teasing tone.

       Moritz ducked his head further and turned away, walking down the row. Melchior followed.

       They picked up things and laughed at their gaudiness or questioned their functionality. Moritz considered the implications of kissing him in every row they walked through. Melchior ended up buying a couple old books and a journal. Moritz got some old black-and-white photographs.

       Then they found their way into one of those half-antique, half-clothing stores you only find in small towns. After some wandering, Melchior picked up a gray wool scarf. He held it up for a moment, then set it down. Moritz grabbed it and found an old mirror on the wall. He definitely didn’t hate how it looked. But Moritz never wore scarves -- they were too much constricting fabric. Still.

       He bought it.

       That afternoon seemed to pass in a series of photographs. Unlike the ones from the antique store, though, these were in vivid color. The rusty gold of the trees, the bottle green of Melchior’s coat, the warm brown of all the fall decorations around the stores.

       But like the antique photos, Moritz wanted to hold onto these.

       They ended up sitting on a bench with hot coffee in their hands. Still, the wind swept past sharply and they sat with their arms pressed together, sharing as much warmth as they could.

       Moritz felt calm and maybe even  _ happy _ . He felt hope rising within him and it scared him and surprised him and made him want to cling to this moment even more.

       “What are you thinking about?” Melchior asked after a while.

       “I like this.”

       Melchior laughed.

       Moritz turned his head to see Melchior with a grin stretched across his face. “What?”

       Melchior shook his head, still grinning. “Me too.” They kissed. Melchior reached up a  hand and set it on the side of Moritz’s face. Moritz held onto the sleeve of Melchior’s coat.

       Even in the cold, he could have sworn they melted together.


	5. Three Warm Days in Three Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the phone call and the baking and the trail (again).

       The last week of October and first two of November passed in a blur.

 

       There was the night Moritz called Melchior at thirteen minutes to midnight.

       Moritz never called people. He hated that he couldn’t read their expressions, they couldn’t read his. It was all the worst parts of talking with none of the good. At least if he texted, the other person couldn’t hear him stumble over his words.

       That night he called, though. He was ninety-four percent sure Melchior was still up, probably doing homework. Either way, he answered.

       “Moritz?” Melchior asked first. “It’s late. Is something wrong?”

       Moritz was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, one arm hugging him stomach, the other holding the phone to his ear. He blinked back tears at Melchior’s voice. “No, I mean--- I don’t know. I’m okay.”

       He thought he could hear something shifting on the other end. Then Melchior said, “What’s going on?”

       “I’m scared, Melchior.”

       “Of what? Did something happen?”

       Moritz shook his head, then remembered, starting to wonder if the phone call was a bad idea. “N-nothing happened. I don’t know, I’m just scared and-- and I can feel it and I wanted to talk.”

       There was a pause and Moritz imagined Melchior nodding then remembering, the same as him. “Okay, yeah. We can talk.”

       There was space and emptiness between them. Moritz hunched forward, feeling every breath pass through him. The pause grew.

       Then Melchior: “Moritz?”

       “Yeah?”

       “Just checking.”

       “Yeah.”

       Another pause. Then Moritz: “So those clouds today, yeah?”

       Melchior’s laugh fell into his ear. “Yes, most definitely.”

       Moritz pulled at a string on his bed sheet. “Melchior?”

       “Yeah?”

       “I think I’m scared.”

       “Yeah.”

       “Of a lot of things.”

       “Yes.”

       Moritz didn’t know where he was going with the words. “I don’t want to be in my classes.”

       “Trust me, I get you.”

       “And I don’t want to be in my house.”

       “There’s always college.”

       “We both know I’d self-destruct in college.”  _ I’m self-destructing now _ .

       Distance between them. The same as always, but somehow the silence on the phone made it seem ten times greater.

       “Melchior?”

       “Yeah?”

       “Can you just talk?”

       “About what?”

       “Anything.”  _ Anything _ . Moritz leaned forward until his head rested on his knee while Melchior went on some sort of spiel about the logarithms he had to do for homework. He tried to remember the sound of it, the feel of the phone, the pressure of his head on his knee. He tried to attach himself to the night, to the moment.

       And the closest he could get was  _ I don’t want to be here _ .

       But each time he remembered he was listening to Melchior ---  _ Melchior _ , whom he had kissed and who seemed to like him back --- his heart warmed in his chest.

       Eventually, Melchior trailed off. “How was that?”

       “Thank you.”

       “Are you...good?”

       “Yes.” A breath. “Yes, thank you.”

       “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Melchior said.

       “Tomorrow,” Moritz agreed.

_        Tomorrow _ .

 

       There was the afternoon they tried to bake an apple pie. Melchior wasn’t big on following the directions --- “Two tablespoons of cinnamon? Absolutely not. We’re doing four.” --- But it came out okay. Edible to them at least.

       The smell of the pre-made crust and the slightly tart apples and the melted sugar in the warm kitchen made Moritz feel like he was falling in love.

_        Maybe I am _ , he thought. But he pushed the thought out of his head.

       After the pie was done and still warm, they sat on the couch in Melchior’s living room, one blanket draped across the both of them. They each had a plate in their hands. Moritz leaned his head on Melchior’s shoulder and closed his eyes, comfortable and safe and warm.

       He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until Melchior shifted to set their plates on the coffee table. He sat upright and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

       “You’re cute, it’s fine.”

       So Moritz fell asleep again, but not before he kissed Melchior and tasted cinnamon and cinnamon and apples.

 

       There was the day they went back to the trail where they had first kissed. Most of the leaves were fallen, their gold dulled. But there were still happy memories in each step.

       They walked down the trail, side-by-side.

       “What’s your family like?” Melchior said.

       Moritz shrugged. He shared how his mom had passed away when he was eight. How his dad was pretty controlling (though he didn’t go into any details).

       “Any siblings?”

       He shook his head. “Do you have any?”

       More head shaking.  
       Just walking and breathing and trees.

       “What are we doing, Melchior?” Moritz asked after the silence took up too much space.

       The sky took that opportunity to fall. Rain drops bounced off the barren tree branches and onto their heads.

       Melchior laughed. “Is that enough of an answer?”

       Moritz smiled. But there was still that knot in his stomach that had been there since Melchior had started talking to him --- and especially since they’d started kissing. “I-I just want to know---”

       Melchior put a hand on Moritz’s shoulder and they turned around. “Let’s get out of the rain first, and then we can talk.”

       They backtracked as quickly as they could, but were still fairly drenched by the time they reached Melchior’s car. They got in and sat, hearing each other’s breaths and feeling droplets slide down their foreheads.

       Melchior grabbed Moritz’s hand and held it firmly. “I don’t know what this is, exactly, but it can be whatever we want it to be.” He smiled and it pushed away the doubts in Moritz’s chest.

       Most of them, at least. He had never like the abstract, the vague, anything unclear. “So we’re...dating?”

       “I’d say we’ve gone on a few dates.”

       With his free hand, Moritz pulled at the seam on his jeans. “Okay. Yeah. This all seems---”

       “Sudden?”

       “I was going to say too good to be true.”

       Melchior leaned in towards Moritz. “Maybe you can have nice things too, Moritz.” He covered Moritz’s mouth with his own. “And besides,” he said after they pulled apart, “if it weren’t for you, who would I have to make out in the car with?”

       “I’m sure there’s a whole line of girls at school who would volunteer.”

       “I guess it’s too bad, then, that I’ve only got eyes for one boy right now.”

       Moritz felt warmth rise in his cheeks. It was only matched by another kiss. Melchior’s hand slid through Moritz’s damp hair. Moritz’s hand drifted to Melchior’s sleeve, as it always seemed to do.

       The last week of October and first two of November passed in a blur --- of kisses and warmth and Melchior.


	6. Thoughts and Thoughts and Mugs of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they make plans for Thanksgiving and Moritz leaves school early.

       Moritz walked out of the classroom, considering the implications of the fact that James Buchanan was gay (or at least liked boys) -- Ernst had just informed him of the finding while they were in chemistry. It wasn’t as if it changed anything. He was already dead. But sometimes it was the little things.

       Melchior called his name as Moritz passed by him at his locker.

       “Hey.” Moritz stopped at the bank of lockers.

       “Hey. So I was thinking: In three days, it’s Thanksgiving and we should spend it together so you should come over.” He closed his locker and they joined the flow of backpacks out of the science hall.

       “I-I don’t know. I’m not sure my dad’ll let me skip---”

       “You’re not  _ skipping _ , exactly, you just wouldn’t be having it with him.”

       “I’m don’t think my Dad will listen to that kind of logic.”

       Melchior tapped his fingers against the textbook in his hands. “I’m going to agree, but I’m not giving up. Talk to him?” Moritz nodded and Melchior headed down the business hall with a grin.

       Later that night, Moritz inched towards the topic as he and his father pushed through their dinner of Thai take-out. “What are our plans for Thanksgiving?”

       “Thursday, isn’t it?”

       Moritz nodded.

       “I think your Aunt May is coming over with the turkey. She’s bringing all her kids too. And Uncle Henry and Aunt Caroline will be here.”

       Moritz had three cousins, all from one aunt whose husband had left her a couple years back. They ranged from three to twelve and Moritz only saw them on holidays, when they exchanged about seven words apiece.

       He poked at his pile of rice. “Is there any chance I could miss this year? A friend is hosting a bunch of---”

       His dad cut off what would have been a slight lie, already shaking his head. “No, can’t do that. This is one of the only times your family gets to see you. Your aunts miss you.”

_        They don’t _ . But Moritz put up no protest. His father’s decisions were final.

       After dinner, back up in his room, Moritz sent a text to Melchior:  _ Can’t do Thanksgiving. _

       The reply came with a buzz:  _ See this is why adults shouldn’t run things. They always ruin them. _

_        It’s one night. We’ll find another day to get together.  _ Even though the idea of spending the holiday not under the constant eye of his family had gotten him excited.

       A pause. Then:  _ What if we just hung out afterwards? _

_        At night? _

_        Yeah. _

_        Like a sleepover? _

_        Sure. _

_        I don’t know about that either. _

_        We have an extra couch if that’s what you’re worried about. _

_        I’ll ask. _

_        Don’t forget. _

       “Did your dad say yes?” Melchior asked the next day at lunch.

       “I haven’t asked.” Before Melchior could protest, he added, “My dad leaves before I get up in the mornings.”

       Melchior took a bite out of his apple. “Okay, just remember tonight.”

       And suddenly Melchior’s urgency clicked in Moritz’s mind. “Is this another thing on that list you wrote? Thanksgiving dinner?”

       “It’s not a list, it’s in the notes app on my---”

       “Is it?”

       “Yes, it’s on there.” Melchior was unfazed by the question. “But that means that we should really try to---”

       “ _ I’ll ask _ .”

       “Good.”

* * *

 

       Wednesday. Fourth period had just ended.

_        I don’t want to be here I can’t be here I don’t want to be here. _

       Moritz saw Melchior at his locker and immediately moved to him. “I need to go home.” Every part of him was shaking: his breath in his lungs, his hands which were pulling at the seams of his jeans.  _ I need to go home. _

       “What’s going on?” Melchior shut the locker.

       “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

       Melchior took him by the forearm and led him to an alcove in the wall where a bulletin board hung. “Did you drive?”

       “Yes. But I can’t sign myself out yet, I’m seventeen.”

       Melchior seemed to think for a moment while Moritz’s mind spun in circles around the same thought --  _ I don’t want to be here _ \-- that had been there since second period. “I’ll call my mom,” Melchior said eventually.

       “I don’t know if---”

       “Shhh.” Melchior set a hand on Moritz’s shoulder, while the other lifted his phone to his ear. He and his mom talked for a few moments before he nodded and put his phone in his pocket. “We’re leaving.”

       “But---”

       “My mom is calling to check us out. We just have to go to the office.”

       It was all happening so quickly. Moritz  _ had _ wanted -- did want -- to go home but he didn’t think he would be able to . He thought it’d be just another day of suffering through his classes. He  _ was  _ grateful for the opportunity to leave.

       But Melchior had said “we”.

       As they started to walk to the office, Moritz said, “You’re leaving too?”

       “I’m taking you home.”

       “But my car---”

       “We’ll get it later. You are not driving right now.”

       He didn’t want to figure out another plan. He nodded.

       They went into the office. Melchior checked them out with a purple pen. Then they went to Melchior’s car.

       Moritz could still feel himself shaking. He was sure Melchior could hear his ragged breaths. He closed his eyes for the whole car ride.

       Eventually, the car stopped moving. “We’re here,” Melchior said.

       Moritz got out and pulled out his backpack. He was about to say “thank you” to Melchior when he saw him getting out of the car too. Moritz couldn’t find the words from his brain so he just walked to his front door. Melchior followed.

       Moritz set his backpack on the floor.  _ What do I do now that I’m home? This was a mistake. It wouldn’t have killed me to stay. (Today, at least.) _

       Melchior set a hand on his shoulder. “Go shower.” Moritz shot him a confused look. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

       Moritz couldn’t argue with the prospect of hot water, so he went upstairs. He stood under the water and tried to sort out his thoughts. But his earlier anxiety had vacated his body, leaving him an empty, dull shell.

       He went downstairs with dripping hair, his jeans changed to sweatpants. Melchior was in the kitchen, rifling through his pantry. At Moritz’s footsteps, he stepped out.

       “You have no food,” he said bluntly.

       “My dad doesn’t really cook.”

       “Evidently.” Melchior closed the pantry and pointed to a mug on the table. “But I found tea so I made that. I hope you’re the one who drinks it.”

       Moritz nodded and took the mug. “Thank you.”  He took a sip. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

       “Well, I don’t like fifth period biotech, so this is much better.” He took a few steps toward Moritz and pressed his lips to his, the warm mug between them.

       Moritz relished the kiss, but his worries were circling his brain once again. After they broke apart, he sat down at the table. The first thought was  _ I’m going to be in so much trouble _ . But that seemed too far away. There were more present tense worries taking over his mind.  _ I should have stayed. I’m too weak. I would have been fine if I had stayed. _ Fine -- but crying, head not connected to his shoulders, desperately wanting to not be there. He was happy to be home. But--- But---

       In the part of his head that wasn’t running through those thoughts, he recognized he was staring at an inconsequential spot on the table. Melchior was still standing, probably wondering what was wrong with him and why he was still there.

       “You--- You can go home,” he managed to say.

       “Are you---”

       “I’m fine. Just don’t like school. Don’t want to go back.” He knew he wasn’t making sense, really. It was obvious he wasn’t fine and that there was something more. “But I’m fine.”  _ Just don’t want to exist _ .

       He imagined death would hurt, any way it came. But that was just the process, the dying part. But it wouldn’t matter, would it? Because then he would be dead and wouldn’t know.

_        I want to die _ .

       The thought crept up on him, appearing sometimes from out of nowhere. A lot of the time it was just a thought. But sometimes there was that itch, that urge to act upon it.

       And there he was, thinking about dying while the boy he loved was standing there in confusion.

_        Loved _ .  _ Oh God, loved? _

       Moritz stood up. “You can go home, it’s okay,” he said again. He kissed him, staying in that space as long as he could before he had to pull away. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

       Melchior smiled -- not fully, but still enough to stir butterflies in Moritz’s stomach. “Anything.” He left with one more kiss.

       The house felt empty, nothing but half a Moritz within it. Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw i literally just saw that james buchanan thing online so i have no idea if it's completely true but it's a theory and i wanted to put something like it in here so...yes.


	7. Rows and Rows, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the apple orchard (again).

       In the car, Moritz stared out the window. He thought about all the things he didn’t know about in the town he’d lived in for most of his life. He thought about saying something aloud and decided against it each time.

       They pulled into the now-familiar gravel parking lot. When Moritz got out, the wave of scents that accompanied the orchard -- cinnamon and apple and crisp leaves -- filled up every inch of his lungs.

       Thanksgiving hadn’t happened. For them, at least. Moritz had still had to sit through two hours of his family making polite -- and, as time went on, not so polite -- conversation.

       He’d escaped to his room when clean up began. A couple texts from Melchior had been waiting for him, unsurprisingly. Moritz hadn’t gotten back to him about Thanksgiving -- or even asked his dad. He felt uncomfortable and a little nervous after yesterday, but more than that, he just couldn’t bring himself to make any plans.

       He apologized via text that night -- last night -- and Melchior had arranged to meet at the orchard the next day.

       So there they were.

       “Cider?” Melchior asked. Moritz nodded, the situation all too familiar.

       They took their cups and went out into the rows. This time, they kept going, further than the last. Before Melchior could start climbing trees again, Moritz sat down at the base of one of them. It hadn’t rained in several days and the ground was dry and firm. Melchior sat in front of Moritz. They both sat criss-cross.

       Moritz took a sip of his cider. It burned his mouth. He took another sip.

       “Moritz---” Melchior started, but Moritz stopped him, sitting up straighter.

       “Wait, listen. I-I don’t think I’m good at this. The you and me and kissing and-- and… I’m sorry for that.” The words were coming out of him in a rush, as if he wouldn’t say them if they were any slower. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or the day after. I can’t even imagine. But -- God, I hate talking about this --- I feel like we always skirt around everything that’s wrong with me---”

       “Moritz, there’s nothing---”

       “And sometimes I want that. I want to be out of my head. But it’s not fair to anyone if I just keep being Broken Me and we all ignore it. So I just…” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I mean I guess if that ends things…” He shrugged and his heart thudded dully in his chest. He stared at a point on the ground.

       “Moritz?” He looked up to see Melchior half-grinning. “I love you but...maybe that’s a bit much?”

_        Oh God now I’ve messed it up now I’ve--- _

       “a) You’re not broken. Don’t even say that. b) Who cares if this isn’t perfect?” Melchior moved forward so their knees touched. “I like this. And c) We’re kids. We’re supposed to be reckless and make bad decisions.”

       It was a shock to hear those words from Melchior, who’d been saying “I’m practically an adult” since he was twelve.

       Melchior’s expression softened into something more open than his usual I-don’t-care-about-anything look. It only made Moritz want to kiss him (more than usual, at least).

       But. “I always mess things up, though. I have and I will and I just---”

       Melchior cut off his words by pressing his mouth against his. And Moritz wanted nothing more than to drown out the everything in his head because he obviously wasn’t saying it right. They stayed like that for a while, both of them leaning into each other.

       And everything was quiet.

       After a while, they both leaned back. Moritz felt the comforting press of bark against his back. He took a long drink of his cider.

       “What happens next year?” he asked, his voice feeling small. “Or in college?”

       Melchior knocked one of his knees against Moritz’s. “Don’t think about it.”

       And as much as Moritz appreciated the sentiment, he hated it. “No, I’m serious. I can’t envision my future. I don’t know where I’ll be, but you have everything figured out. Our lives will never fit together.”

       Melchior took Moritz’s hand, turning it over and absently tracing circles in the palm. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know.” His voice hadn’t changed, but the admission seemed sadder than anything to Moritz.

       “I’m sorry---”

       “No, this is one of those things we avoid. You’re right. I’m almost certain our paths won’t align. Maybe you’ll move away or I will. I don’t know.” He readjusted his grip on Moritz’s hand so their fingers were intertwined. “But we won’t know until it happens. And right now -- we know that. And it’s pretty good.” He met Moritz’s eyes. “Okay?”

       Moritz recognized that his fear of the future hadn’t -- wouldn’t go away. But it had nothing to do with Melchior. Just like all the other fears that Moritz held on to. Their lives had just become entangled enough that Moritz’s head -- and heart -- told him they did. “Okay, yeah.” He took in a somewhat steady breath. After a moment, he said, “But I think I know something we can do in the more immediate future.”

       Melchior laughed. “Why wait?”

       Their mouths met and they fell into each other.

       All Moritz could possibly know in that moment was  _ now  _ and  _ now _ and  _ now  _ and  _ now _ .

       They only broke apart as they both felt it. They looked up and there it was -- the first snow of the year. The flakes fell cold and heavy upon them, and something in Moritz saddened at the sight of them. “I guess this means fall is over.”

       Melchior was still looking up. “I guess so.”

       “Did you finish your list?”

       Melchior looked at him and nodded. “Thanks to you.”

       Moritz bit at his lip. Nothing had changed, but the snow only seemed to remind him how quickly time was passing.

       “Hey,” Melchior said, his free hand gently lifting up Moritz’s chin. “Good news -- winter is only beginning.”

       They leaned into one another and Moritz was grateful for the warmth as cold and white swirled around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Uh, yeah. This'll be it. It's been a time.
> 
> Thanks.
> 
>  
> 
> "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."  
> \--Ernest Hemingway


End file.
